Confessions of a Book Club Dictator

My book club calls me "Dear Leader." They installed me, but if the extraordinary powers bestowed on me were reassigned, I would use whatever means necessary to quell it gladly welcome the change.

But let us not forget the bleak times during which I rose to power. Emails full of suggestions were met with yet more suggestions. Selections went half-read. A guest tried to hijack book club and turn it into an exploration of her own marital sexual frustration. Once, there was only a single bottle of wine to be shared by five women.

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Thankfully, that's all behind us. As the petite leader of a small group of professional women, I facilitate our shared goal, which is neither a utopian society nor world domination: We strive to read widely, and devote ourselves to a new subject every time. We learned about cognitive illusions in Daniel Kahneman's Thinking, Fast and Slow, explored North Korea in Adam Johnson's novel The Orphan Master's Son, and in Carolyn Burke's biography of Lee Miller, we witnessed the many lives of a woman who is often reduced to Man Ray's girlfriend. Like our freshman year in college, these books offer a glimpse into worlds we're curious about, but no longer have an excuse to explore.

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The majority of my book club works in business and tech. Our professional lives allow little time for leisure reading, magnifying the very real disconnect between who were at 22—English majors, mostly—and who we are at 32. It may be fleeting, but book club allows us to unite these selves.

Once, there was only a single bottle of wine to be shared by five women.

For me, this exercise isn't quite fleeting, and perhaps that's why I've turned into the de facto dictator. As an author, I need to know what's going on in the book world. Publishing houses and authors send me advance copies to review and blurb. If a professor writes the syllabus because she is the most familiar with the subject, I happen to have the most potential titles at the ready.

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When we first started meeting, I was new to San Francisco and grateful to meet such kind, smart, and funny women, all of whom happen to have really great hair. I was careful and quiet, hoping they'd teach me about the area and invite me into their lives, and they, in turn, were happy for an aberration in San Francisco's increasingly monolithic culture. My role evolved organically within that framework; they started calling me "Dear Leader" after we read The Orphan Master's Son, and my coronation was limited to that act of naming. If there had been some kind of formalized process, I would have turned down the role. I'm not the most organized and I actively avoid confrontation, but most of all, I would've feared ruining our nascent friendships.

I'm sure all autocrats claim to be loved, but our relationships outside of book group seem to suggest these ladies are satisfied with my performance. They go to all my readings and post photos and reviews all over social media. They rushed to support me in the aftermath of a devastating breakup. When my dogsitter backed out a couple of days before a big event, Lindsay and her husband drove three hours north to a cabin where I was on assignment. I stayed with Elaine's mom on a research trip. I doubt I'd be a dictator in any other fashion, but for this dedicated group, I'd do anything. To whit: my dictates come packaged with freshly baked fig tarts.

But it turns out we're in violation of rules set forth by Oprah Winfrey, the ultimate expert. According to a piece published in her namesake magazine titled "14 Ways Not to Kill Your Book Club," which outlines how to keep your book club alive, members should "Beware The Book-Talk Tyrant." The erudite despot author Leigh Newman describes nine qualities, and I'm guilty of a few.

But I'd say the author fails to account for diverse styles of tyranny. Not every Dear Leader "makes everybody feel as if they have to raise their hands to make a comment or go to the bathroom." In truth, there's no real hierarchy to my book group. I choose the best book just like someone who lived next door to the best bakery would always bring dessert; neither diminishes what is essentially an egalitarian endeavor.

Why exclude someone when dates can probably be moved around? I "allow" stories about bosses, significant others, travel, and other subjects that diverge from the book because they enrich the conversation. We don't read from the same edition, either. As far as food, contributions inspired by the text are encouraged, but if someone shows up with an unrelated truffle triple creme brie, I won't turn her away. Besides, the vegetarian pâté Newman shuns couldn't be worse than the celery powdered potatoes puree from Carolyn Burke's biography on Lee Miller. And my reign can inject some spontaneity: Over appetizers, I "asked" two members to read Mallory Ortberg's Texts From Jane Eyre: And Other Conversations With Your Favorite Literary Characters aloud, and it was wonderful.

While I would never purposefully offend Oprah, the big dictator to my little one, I'm glad we don't abide by her rules, or any others. (Except mine, of course). Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but I wear it out of love. During my reign, my book group has weathered obstacles big and small, from long absences to the great Meat In A Vegetarian Dish Incident of 2013. And if I were to be deposed? In truth, I'm just a puppet ruler, and we're a group of grown-ass women who want nothing more than to make this work for everyone. We don't need 14 ways to keep our book club alive. One seems to work just fine.